Page 10 of Convincing the Catcher

A line forms on Cliff’s forehead as he looks down at the card after typing in the information on the computer in front of him.

“Is everything okay?” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder before turning back to him.

“Well, it’s just … this keeps getting denied.” He says the words softly, not wanting anyone else to hear. “I can run it again, but I’ve tried it four times now.”

“That’s weird,” I say, my cheeks heating up. “You know what? I’ll call my mom on my way to practice. I have another week of supplies left anyway.”

I snatch the card from his hand, just wanting to get the heck out of here and figure out what’s going on. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning,” I assure him with a smile.

Turning away, I quickly dart past the line and outside. And as I go to call my mom, I remember the look on her face when she asked about my pod while we were FaceTiming the other day.

I think I need to call our insurance instead.

My mom already has enough on her plate.

For the first time in likely forever, I’m relieved when practice is over. My sugar level is a little too high for my liking, and not only is it hard to focus, but I can’t stop thinking about the insurance situation. When I called and talked to someone over the phone before practice, she told me that the premium wasn’t paid, so now I need to call my mom, and I really hate to do that when she’s back home, already taking care of my extremely sick dad.

“You good, Harls?” Haven asks as I’m unbuckling my gear and tossing it into my bag. “You seem a little off. Is your level all right?”

“A little high, but I’m fine,” I answer. “I’m good. Really.”

She eyes me over before, finally, she nods and takes her cleats off and sets them on the knobs of her bats before sliding her Birkenstocks on.

“As long as you’re sure,” she says with one hand on her wheeling bat bag, still eyeing me over.

“I’m sure,” I promise her, looking down at my phone and holding it up. “See, my level is coming down.”

Hesitating for a few seconds, she turns away and heads to the parking lot, and once I’m all alone in the dugout, I take my phone out and dial my mom. It takes her more rings than usual to answer, but eventually, she picks up.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hi, Mom. Whatcha doing?” I lean forward slightly, pulling my sandals on and setting my cleats in my bag.

I’m dreading everything about this conversation, but I know I need to get to the bottom of whatever is going on. At the end of the day, I need my medication and my supplies to monitor my sugar level. I just don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t depend on our insurance to cover them.

“Well, I actually just got back from taking your dad for a ride.” She sounds so tired yet still hopeful. “He’s back in bed now, but he sure liked to ride around town to get out of the house for a bit.”

“I bet he did,” I say softly with a smile. I chew on my lip nervously. “Hey … Mom?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I went to the pharmacy today to get my prescriptions filled, and the insurance card wouldn’t work.” My voice is awkward and shaky. I hate that I can’t just go buy it with my own money so that I don’t have to bother her during a time like this. “I wasn’t sure if you knew what I should do.”

“Shit,” her voice squeaks. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I can hear her pacing. “I’m so sorry, Harley. Money has been tight with all of your dad’s medical bills piling up. The insurance hasn’t been covering a lot of things, and I was late paying the premium, but I promise, I’m going to pay it.” She’s crying now, making me feel worse than I already do. “I’m so sorry, baby. The last thing you should have to worry about right now is paying for your meds.”

“Mom, shh,” I say calmly. “Hey, it’s okay. I have another week of meds. Actually, more like nine days.”

I’m met with a sob.

“I just don’t know what to do. We’re buried in bills and … what if I can’t pay our insurance? What if you can’t get the meds?”

In my mind, a thousand of my own what-ifs are passing through. But she’s scared. I can hear it in her voice, and I don’t need to make her more afraid.

“It’ll all be okay,” I assure her. “I’ll talk to the pharmacist, and maybe I can come up with some sort of a payment plan.” I drag my hand down my face. “But what are you going to do, Mom?” My voice grows hoarse. “You guys need money to live.”

“Don’t you worry about us, okay?” she whispers. “We will be fine. All of us.” I hear a knock in the background. “I have to go. The house nurse is here to check on your dad. Please don’t worry. We will figure something out; I know it. I love you so much, and I am so sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry, Mom. You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say, trying to assure her. “I love you. Bye.”